Happily, Aziraphale takes the pendant and swims behind Crowley to place it on him, draping it over his nape and clasping it tightly on so it doesn't fall off.
He's there to catch Crowley for when he transforms, in case his legs give out from underneath him.
Crowley leans back a bit against Aziraphale, taking a deep breath. Aside from some mild cramping in the legs afterwards, the transformation doesn't so much hurt as it feels very peculiar, like a full-body sneeze.
There is a faint glow, and Crowley's body tenses, his tail shrinking down and splitting into a pair of long, scaly legs.
He sets his feet down on the sandy floor of the sea, finding it easier to stand while buoyed by the lapping waves, and then turns to wrap his arms around him and press kiss after kiss against Aziraphale's mouth.
"Yes," comes the reply, slightly breathless as he watches Crowley's body change. It's such an odd thing to witness, beautiful and strange, and he forgets to breathe.
Aziraphale places an arm around Crowley's waist and hoists him up a tad to levy most of the weight.
"First thing you've gotta do is learn how to balance on your feet. Might be a little difficult, since we're on sand. But I'm here." He's solid and soft, and ready to catch any falls.
Yes, excellent first step. Holding on to Aziraphale feels like a very good idea and he never wants to let go.
Slowly he lets Aziraphale guide him along. There is the occasional stumble, but he seems to be taking to walking as quickly as Aziraphale is taking to swimming.
Unfortunately, Crowley does seem to overcompensate with his narrow hips, swinging them to and fro as he would with his tail.
Aziraphale notices this and gently guides his hip, telling him, "it might help to move with your shoulders instead." But of course, Crowley's always had the most swishy of hips. It is a shame to try and fix his gait.
He won't let go, even when they reach the cabin. He won't let Crowley fall on his face ever again. No. He'd rather move his entire house right onto the water, build his foundation on stilts.
"I think you're getting the hang of this," he says, though only because he thinks if Crowley stood still he might not fall over immediately.
Crowley doesn't seem to mind failure. A tumble down into soft sand and his love's arms are certainly not the sort of things that would demotivate him. So he lets himself fail - figure out what's wrong as he works out what's right. He stumbles and fumbles until they're only a little ways from the cabin where he's less swinging his hips and more swishing them, leading with his shoulders as Aziraphale instructed.
He could, at this point, probably walk on his own with minimal incident (aside from his gyrating hips causing a scandal). But he wants to hold on to Aziraphale for more than just support; he's just so wonderfully warm, even wet as he is from their swim.
"Well," he says. "You are walking." He admits it's not like any human he's ever seen, possibly because Mick Jagger hasn't been born, but he smiles pridefully. "You're such a good learner, my dear."
He rewards Crowley with a quick nip and opens the door to the cabin, letting them back in and settling Crowley back down on the bed.
"Now. A real treat. One second."
He busies himself getting more bowls, to whip up a soft cream for their cake.
Crowley is thinking that Aziraphale is more a treat than anything, tasty and sweet, and so the merman watches with intense interest as Aziraphale works. The cake certainly smells delicious, Crowley thinks as he sprawls out on the bed, propped up on one arm with his chin rested in his palm.
"Mm," he starts, placing a bit of it on his finger and offering it to Crowley to eat.
Afterward, he cuts the cake in half and spreads a generous layer of jam he'd made previously, then dollops fat portions of cream. Finally, he sprinkles a little bit of powdered sugar on top.
If this were modern times, they'd need to take a photo for instagram.
As it is not, he smiles and presents it to Crowley. "We share these by cutting slices. Would you like to do the honors?"
Crowley sucks on the proffered finger like it's the tastiest thing Aziraphale could offer. He is interested in the cream, but even more interest in thoroughly licking the pad of the digit.
Once Aziraphale is ready, Crowley takes the knife and cuts lengthwise along the side, cutting thin slices as though he were cutting strips of meat from a freshly hunted kill.
"Like this?" he asks, before cutting too much. It doesn't seem quit right, the way they sag and droop like that.
Aziraphale is so caught up in how Crowley takes his finger in his mouth that honestly he forgets for a second that they're supposed to be eating cake.
Oh, drats.
He is most definitely aroused.
"Mm--" he starts, and then immediately pitches his voice down from its crack. "Yes, I mean--! No, no. Let me show you." He takes the knife and starts making slices like normal cake. "Like this. In wedges."
Aziraphale tries to shift his legs to hide his tenting when he notices Crowley looking, but honestly somehow that makes it worse as he draws more attention to it and it peeks up in interest after being summarily ignored for the last thirty-some years and then very ignored as of recent.
"Yes, of course," he says instead, nervously as he takes a forkful and helps himself to some cake. It's delicious.
But somehow not quite as exciting as Crowley licking cream off of his fingers.
Still, he offers Crowley the next bite off of his fork.
Crowley gladly takes a bite to distract himself from both their arousals. He can, at least, keep his own well-hidden. It would take some rummaging around to get more than the tip to show, but apparently Aziraphale doesn't have that luxury. No wonder humans wore so many clothes.
The cake is sweet and fluffy and Crowley has never had anything quite like it. His mouth lingers on the fork as he tries valiantly to tongue away every dollop of cream, lick every last crumb from the utensil.
He wonders what Aziraphale would taste like, covered in cream.
With this thought, Crowley's eyes flutter closed, and he makes a low, contented sound of approval.
Aziraphale can't help but chuckle as he says, "it's alright Crowley, there's plenty of the cake to eat." He gives him a quick peck on the cheek and takes another bite of cake. It's good. The cake itself is moist and fluffy and airy, the jam nice and tart, the cream lovely and thick.
"I'm glad you like it," he adds, smiling as he's so proud of himself.
"It'll be good for a few days if we keep it cold, but absolute rubbish in the water." There's so much they can only enjoy on dry land. He wonders what is the other half of the equation he's missing.
"It'd probably dissolve to bits," he says, licking cream from his lips. "But there's other things I can bring you, when you go swimming. Fresh fish, and oysters. Seal meat is good if we head north - it's fatty and warming and it keeps well. Sharks are tasty too, but I wouldn't bother with the big ones unless we're in a group - it'd just go to waste otherwise."
He explains this through the occasional mouthful of cake, along with all the properties of seaweed. Food under the ocean seemed to be comprised a lot of meat, algae, and seaweed. Not a lot of fruit beyond whatever fell in from the land.
Oh yes, those are the things that he's missing in his life. It sounds divine, this life they've created, and he has barely started on it. He seems so excited though, to hear Crowley talk about all of it, and listens with rapt attention on bated breath, eyes wide with wonder.
"I'd love to come with you," he says. "To come see all of it." He takes another bite.
"Of course. We'll do all these things together, since we're going to be a pair. Um. Married. Practically the same thing."
He brings Aziraphale's hand to his lips, pressing kiss after kiss to his knuckles.
"We'll travel on your ships, or under the waves, and I'll keep you warm and safe and loved. And you can show me the places on land, all the things like cakes and Denmarks and trees."
The idea of countries was probably not a thing in Crowley's head yet. But he looks very eager to learn.
He thinks it's kind of endearing, actually. "Yes, dear, all the Denmarks when we're married." He pecks a kiss to his crown, though his smile grows wider still at every single one given to his knuckles.
Afterwards, he pulls Crowley in for an embrace, soft hair on the underside of Crowley's chin, just filling up his arms with angelic softness, wanting to immerse himself in Crowley's very presence.
Two days in, and he already knows he's met the love of his life.
Crowley makes that low, deep contented sound again. He could, quite happily, stay like this forever, with his arms full of Aziraphale, just floating in time. He holds him, nuzzling into his hair and breathing his sweet scent. He's never smelled flowers before, but he imagines those bright patches of colour he'd seen in the painting would smell just like Aziraphale.
He would love to see a field of flowers, bask among them with Aziraphale under a warm summer sun. He could sing him songs from the sea and Aziraphale could tell him stories from land, and they would kiss and hold each other and talk about their days to come.
Crowley sets the cake safely aside on the bedside table, and spoons Aziraphale into his arms. Warm, safe, loved. His promise to this wonderful human, this person who Crowley felt some inexplicable connection to. He knew for merfolk these things happen very suddenly, but he'd never known why until he'd met Aziraphale.
Meanwhile, Aziraphale had never been a believer in love at first sight. People always had to work towards something, right? What was the point of a love that wasn't built, that wasn't weathered? Like falling in love with a book for its cover.
But now that he's read the first few pages of Crowley, he's hooked, line and sinker. He knows he will remember this for the rest of his life.
"Dear me," he says. "All that swimming and exercise and all we've had to eat is cake. I'll go fetch us some fish that you brought yesterday," he says, extricating himself to do so. Crowley is so lithe, and so graceful a swimmer. He must need to consume a lot to keep up his form.
Crowley looks a bit puzzled by this. He has no real concept of a diverse meal - you eat what you catch until it's either gone or spoiled, which, in the latter case, you use it as bait to catch fresh prey.
"Is cake not enough for a meal?" He asks, getting up to follow, in case Aziraphale needed any help.
Crowley claps his hands over his mouth as if to prevent his teeth from immediately falling out.
"What? Why would you eat something so dangerous? You need your teeth!"
He fusses, wanting to check Aziraphale's mouth, wanting to make sure the deceptively sweet and fluffy cake hadn't done any damage to him, but Aziraphale is rather preoccupied with the leftover fish.
"No, no, only if you only eat cake and nothing else! And then not brush your teeth." He assumes that Crowley doesn't brush his teeth, so he'll have to introduce him to that.
"What happens to your teeth?" he asks, from over where he's preparing the fish. He doesn't know that the modern diet has essentially ruined human teeth.
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inlovewithmycar
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He's there to catch Crowley for when he transforms, in case his legs give out from underneath him.
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There is a faint glow, and Crowley's body tenses, his tail shrinking down and splitting into a pair of long, scaly legs.
He sets his feet down on the sandy floor of the sea, finding it easier to stand while buoyed by the lapping waves, and then turns to wrap his arms around him and press kiss after kiss against Aziraphale's mouth.
"My turn to learn then, yes?"
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Aziraphale places an arm around Crowley's waist and hoists him up a tad to levy most of the weight.
"First thing you've gotta do is learn how to balance on your feet. Might be a little difficult, since we're on sand. But I'm here." He's solid and soft, and ready to catch any falls.
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Slowly he lets Aziraphale guide him along. There is the occasional stumble, but he seems to be taking to walking as quickly as Aziraphale is taking to swimming.
Unfortunately, Crowley does seem to overcompensate with his narrow hips, swinging them to and fro as he would with his tail.
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He won't let go, even when they reach the cabin. He won't let Crowley fall on his face ever again. No. He'd rather move his entire house right onto the water, build his foundation on stilts.
"I think you're getting the hang of this," he says, though only because he thinks if Crowley stood still he might not fall over immediately.
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He could, at this point, probably walk on his own with minimal incident (aside from his gyrating hips causing a scandal). But he wants to hold on to Aziraphale for more than just support; he's just so wonderfully warm, even wet as he is from their swim.
"How's this, love? Am I walking like a human?"
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He rewards Crowley with a quick nip and opens the door to the cabin, letting them back in and settling Crowley back down on the bed.
"Now. A real treat. One second."
He busies himself getting more bowls, to whip up a soft cream for their cake.
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"What's the white stuff for...?"
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Afterward, he cuts the cake in half and spreads a generous layer of jam he'd made previously, then dollops fat portions of cream. Finally, he sprinkles a little bit of powdered sugar on top.
If this were modern times, they'd need to take a photo for instagram.
As it is not, he smiles and presents it to Crowley. "We share these by cutting slices. Would you like to do the honors?"
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Once Aziraphale is ready, Crowley takes the knife and cuts lengthwise along the side, cutting thin slices as though he were cutting strips of meat from a freshly hunted kill.
"Like this?" he asks, before cutting too much. It doesn't seem quit right, the way they sag and droop like that.
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Oh, drats.
He is most definitely aroused.
"Mm--" he starts, and then immediately pitches his voice down from its crack. "Yes, I mean--! No, no. Let me show you." He takes the knife and starts making slices like normal cake. "Like this. In wedges."
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A wedge, not strips. Right.
Taking the knife back, he cuts a rather large wedge, offering it to Aziraphale.
"It smells wonderful, love. Here, you prepared it, so you should eat."
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"Yes, of course," he says instead, nervously as he takes a forkful and helps himself to some cake. It's delicious.
But somehow not quite as exciting as Crowley licking cream off of his fingers.
Still, he offers Crowley the next bite off of his fork.
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The cake is sweet and fluffy and Crowley has never had anything quite like it. His mouth lingers on the fork as he tries valiantly to tongue away every dollop of cream, lick every last crumb from the utensil.
He wonders what Aziraphale would taste like, covered in cream.
With this thought, Crowley's eyes flutter closed, and he makes a low, contented sound of approval.
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"I'm glad you like it," he adds, smiling as he's so proud of himself.
"It'll be good for a few days if we keep it cold, but absolute rubbish in the water." There's so much they can only enjoy on dry land. He wonders what is the other half of the equation he's missing.
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"It'd probably dissolve to bits," he says, licking cream from his lips. "But there's other things I can bring you, when you go swimming. Fresh fish, and oysters. Seal meat is good if we head north - it's fatty and warming and it keeps well. Sharks are tasty too, but I wouldn't bother with the big ones unless we're in a group - it'd just go to waste otherwise."
He explains this through the occasional mouthful of cake, along with all the properties of seaweed. Food under the ocean seemed to be comprised a lot of meat, algae, and seaweed. Not a lot of fruit beyond whatever fell in from the land.
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"I'd love to come with you," he says. "To come see all of it." He takes another bite.
"I can't wait."
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"Of course. We'll do all these things together, since we're going to be a pair. Um. Married. Practically the same thing."
He brings Aziraphale's hand to his lips, pressing kiss after kiss to his knuckles.
"We'll travel on your ships, or under the waves, and I'll keep you warm and safe and loved. And you can show me the places on land, all the things like cakes and Denmarks and trees."
The idea of countries was probably not a thing in Crowley's head yet. But he looks very eager to learn.
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Afterwards, he pulls Crowley in for an embrace, soft hair on the underside of Crowley's chin, just filling up his arms with angelic softness, wanting to immerse himself in Crowley's very presence.
Two days in, and he already knows he's met the love of his life.
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He would love to see a field of flowers, bask among them with Aziraphale under a warm summer sun. He could sing him songs from the sea and Aziraphale could tell him stories from land, and they would kiss and hold each other and talk about their days to come.
Crowley sets the cake safely aside on the bedside table, and spoons Aziraphale into his arms. Warm, safe, loved. His promise to this wonderful human, this person who Crowley felt some inexplicable connection to. He knew for merfolk these things happen very suddenly, but he'd never known why until he'd met Aziraphale.
no subject
But now that he's read the first few pages of Crowley, he's hooked, line and sinker. He knows he will remember this for the rest of his life.
"Dear me," he says. "All that swimming and exercise and all we've had to eat is cake. I'll go fetch us some fish that you brought yesterday," he says, extricating himself to do so. Crowley is so lithe, and so graceful a swimmer. He must need to consume a lot to keep up his form.
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"Is cake not enough for a meal?" He asks, getting up to follow, in case Aziraphale needed any help.
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How many teeth do merfolk get, anyway? He wonders if they grow them back like sharks.
Anyway, he digs out some fish off of some ice, and tries to prepare it the way that he remembers watching Crowley do it.
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"What? Why would you eat something so dangerous? You need your teeth!"
He fusses, wanting to check Aziraphale's mouth, wanting to make sure the deceptively sweet and fluffy cake hadn't done any damage to him, but Aziraphale is rather preoccupied with the leftover fish.
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"What happens to your teeth?" he asks, from over where he's preparing the fish. He doesn't know that the modern diet has essentially ruined human teeth.
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